


Where the ashes lay and thicken

by flowerdeluce



Category: Outcast (TV 2016)
Genre: Blood, Burns, Corpse Desecration, Demonic Possession, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Temptation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24020317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/pseuds/flowerdeluce
Summary: There was always a chance Aaron would be there when Sidney returned. The boy didn’t yet have a key, though that had never deterred him. A useful skill lock-picking, though anyone might break into Norville’s dilapidated trailer with little more than a credit card if they had a mind to; it wasn’t exactly a fortress. That skill alone wasn’t worth keeping the boy around for.
Relationships: Aaron MacCready/Sidney





	Where the ashes lay and thicken

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from from Slow Burn by Llynks.
> 
> I love playing around with these two.

MacCready. Sidney was acquainted with that name. It felt familiar on his tongue and tasted of tragedy—one of the men crushed in the coal pits miles beneath this rotting town. The pieces slotted together, revealing a bigger picture. 

Aaron MacCready. 

Sidney said, “A little disrespectful, desecrating a memorial to your father, your own flesh and blood. Almost like pissing on his grave, don’t you think?” Rich, from someone who broke into a so-called House of God and defiled the skin of its pastor, but needs must.

“Nah.” Aaron lifted his chin. “It’s funny.”

“Funny?” Sidney gave him a once over, this feeble-looking boy who’d introduced himself as though the world should already know his name. “Let me guess. You’re the kid who thinks getting expelled from school is something to be proud of, who tears the wings off insects to pass the time? You think you’re misunderstood, something special?” 

Indignation flashed in Aaron’s eyes. “I made Anderson look like a total dickhead in front of the whole town. You should be thanking me.”

“I suppose you’re the one responsible for the creative graffiti on the church, too?” Sidney asked, ignoring the boy’s misguided display of self-importance. It didn’t take much to make Anderson play the fool; the man was a walking disaster. Though Anderson wasn’t in this kid’s good books, and that was something they had in common.

“Yeah,” Aaron said with a proud shrug. “Things like that fuck with people’s heads.” He tapped the orange curls at his temple. “They leave a mark.”

“Son, the only marks you’ll leave on this world are the profanities you carve into school desks. You think things’ll change ‘cause of petty vandalism? Spooking a few old biddies? I’ve no interest in your childish games, so why don’t you get out while you still can, hmm?” 

“I already said I don’t wanna go.” 

Sidney had to admit, he was impressed. Despite the fear radiating from his imperfect teenage skin, Aaron wasn’t backing down. There had to be something missing from his life that Sidney could provide, because normal teenagers didn’t break into stranger’s houses—strangers they knew full well were dangerous—and demand attention. Instead of squaring up to him, Sidney decided to do what he’d have done if he’d returned to an empty house: prepare his evening meal.

“What do you want?” Sidney asked, opening the fridge. Its amber light poured across the dim space, picking out the highlights in the boy’s ginger curls and the glossy edges of the kitchenette’s lino that hadn’t been walked into a scuff over the years.

“Whatever you’ve got going on, I want in.” Aaron’s fists clenched at his sides, almost swallowed up by his oversized sleeves.

Over his shoulder, Sidney asked him why. Another question, another itch of curiosity scratched. He slid the cardboard sleeve from his meal and opened the cutlery drawer.

“’Cause I hate this stinking town. They’ve fucked with me too often. You don’t put up with their bullshit.” He took the smallest step forward. “I wanna help you.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Sidney withdrew a steak knife from a drawer before sliding it closed. It was ancient and rusted, but that made it no less threatening. “What makes you think I want your help?” 

Eyes fixed on the knife, Aaron shuffled back to his prior spot. After Sidney used the blade’s tip to pierce the plastic film of his mac and cheese with practiced stabs, the tension in the boy’s face softened. 

“’Cause you need it. You’d still be in that jail if it weren’t for me.” 

Sidney guarded his opinion on whether or not that was true. His opinions would remain locked in a place no one—not even this reckless little thief—could break into, because he didn’t need anyone sniffing around more than they already were. Sidney’s vessel had no connections in this town, and he’d like it to stay that way, especially with its . . . proclivities. Though, it could be useful having someone on his side if they were kept at arm’s length.

“You hungry?” Sidney asked, punching the five minutes his food required into the microwave’s sticky keypad.

Aaron hesitated, his natural pout flinching into a brief frown. “I guess.” 

If Sidney was considering keeping a pet, he better feed it.

*

There was always a chance Aaron would be there when Sidney returned. The boy didn’t yet have a key, though that had never deterred him. A useful skill lock-picking, though anyone might break into Norville’s dilapidated trailer with little more than a credit card if they had a mind to; it wasn’t exactly a fortress. That skill alone wasn’t worth keeping the boy around for.

The lights were off. A thick, comforting layer of darkness shrouded every shape and line, allowing Sidney’s tired eyes a chance to rest. 

Within the room’s shadow, the soft edge of a trembling mass caught the moonlight easing through the blinds. Sidney hit the lights. The fluorescents flickered and buzzed, illuminating the MacCready kid where he hunched on the sofa, face hidden behind hugged knees.

“You’re here,” Sidney said, unconcerned. Merely an observation. 

Aaron said nothing while Sidney slid off his jacket and draped it over the back of the single kitchen chair. He was crying, and if he was trying to hide it, he wasn’t trying hard enough. 

“What’s the matter with you?” 

Aaron composed himself and mumbled into his dirty jeans. “Didn’t know where else to go.” His voice came out strained and hoarse. 

“Your momma finally throw you out?” 

“Shut up!” The outburst slid into a wretched sob. “Just shut the fuck up.”

Sidney did exactly that. He had no patience for children and their emotional dilemmas. If Aaron wanted to blub on his sofa, under his roof, he could do so quietly. Or he could leave. 

Eventually, once Sidney had made his disinterest clear by pouring himself a glass of water and sipping at it slowly, Aaron spoke. “It was Anderson.”

Sidney put the glass down. 

Funny how the mere mention of that name could turn Sidney’s mood like a flipped coin. Anderson was more than a thorn in his side; he was a nail, lodged as deep as those that impaled his so-called saviour, impossible to dislodge without considerable pain and effort. When Aaron lifted his face from his knees to reveal bruised skin, blood caked-in, those holy nails hammered home. 

“He did this to you?” Sidney crossed the room to get a better look.

Aaron’s injuries weren’t severe, but they’d mark his skin for a while, make him a walking advertisement for a broken home.

“Yeah,” Aaron sniffed, peering up at him, wiping at his wet eyes with bloodstained fingers. Blood had dried in the wrinkles of his knuckles, turned black under his fingernails. He must’ve been waiting here a while. “While my mom was shopping. I texted her, but she won’t believe me.” 

Sidney knew anger’s effect on humans; he saw its effect on Anderson staring him in the face. Nothing had made him truly angry since obtaining this body. Frustrated, yes, but never the kind of pure rage that had him fantasizing about tearing out Anderson’s oesophagus and feeding it back to him. He shook his head and opened his fist, reaching for the boy’s face as if touching his injured skin would confirm it wasn’t illusory. 

“How’d this happen?” Sidney asked, sculpting his voice into something resembling calm when he felt nothing of the sort. He turned Aaron’s face by his chin, getting a better look at the state Anderson had left him in.

“I told him where to shove it,” Aaron said, wincing beneath Sidney’s gentle fingertips. “Told him if he wanted to screw widows he could join Tinder and leave my mom the fuck alone.” 

“And he didn’t take kindly to that.” 

Anderson hadn’t held back. Who could call themselves a man, let alone a man of God, if they beat a  
child? The man was unhinged. He deserved a Hell of his own making. 

A thought flashed through Sidney’s mind, a drop of ice in the blistering fire of his anger: Aaron might’ve done this to himself. Why? A ploy to get Anderson fired, perhaps even killed—another layer to bury him with; something that might elicit Sidney’s acceptance of him, instead of treating him like a stray you offer a dish of milk out of pity. With the boy’s mother elsewhere, there was no proof these cuts and bruises were a result of the reverend’s fists. 

“This is nothing compared to what my dad used to do to me,” Aaron mumbled.

Sidney swallowed his anger. He didn’t care for Aaron the way humans cared for their young. He’d considered using him, someone naïve enough to follow his orders without question and young enough to get away with it on the pretence of knowing no better. Humans desperately wanted to believe children were innocent, and that inbuilt gullibility was exploitable. 

Perhaps Sidney had fallen prey to that, because Aaron came to him, had sat here waiting for him to return, trusted him enough to show weakness, and Sidney liked that. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

*

Aaron tugged his hoody and t-shirt over his head with a wince, sitting on the bath’s edge while Sidney searched the medicine cabinet. Once its mirrored door swung shut, it reflected the boy’s sickly, shirtless body, hair askew, fresh bruises peppering skinny arms and shoulders—vulnerability staring him in the face. 

“Did you fight back?” Sidney asked, standing a bottle of antiseptic on the sink’s edge. The label was brown and peeling, Norville’s typed name and date of birth pasted over it from some ancient pharmacy visit.

“I tried.” 

Meeting Aaron’s gaze in the mirror, Sidney nodded. “Good.” Satisfaction flared in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was down to pride over the boy standing his ground or the thought of Anderson getting a swift uppercut from a child.

He ran the faucet and gestured Aaron over. Taking the boy’s wrists, he guided his hands under the cold stream. Congealed blood spiralled down the plughole while Sidney worked a bar of soap between his palms.

“You know anything about self-defence?” Sidney asked, standing behind him, close enough to smell his bare skin. Pressing Aaron’s hands together as though in prayer, he enclosed his own around them, rubbing the lather over his knuckles and along the lengths of his bony fingers. It felt strange asking such a question while Aaron let him manipulate him without argument, without even flinching.

“I’ve seen a few kung-fu movies I guess.” 

Sidney huffed a laugh, easing soap-slick fingertips between Aaron’s. “I need you trained up if you’re sticking around.” If he were to have an assistant in ending the world—even if it was some punk kid with an anger problem—he wanted him strong in mind and body.

Aaron’s voice lifted. “I can stay?” 

“You can run errands,” Sidney answered, skirting the question. He led Aaron’s small hands under the water again, rinsing away suds dyed pink with lingering blood until the stream ran clear. “But if you’re truly on my side, I don’t see any harm in keeping you around.”

Aaron dried his hands and returned to the bath’s edge after Sidney gestured toward it. “I sure as hell ain’t on Rome’s side,” he mumbled. 

“I’ll need more than your word on that,” Sidney said, a threat heavy in his voice. When he looked over his shoulder at the boy, he looked remarkably small.

“What d’you want me to do?”

Sidney unscrewed the cap of the antiseptic. “I haven’t decided yet.”

*

Aaron tossed the cell phone onto the table and rushed to the window. Peering through the blinds, twitching with paranoia, he searched the darkness for anyone who might’ve followed him. 

The phone’s screen glowed brightly in the darkness, like the outcast’s enticing light cutting through the tarry sludge that was Sidney’s home. Sidney reached for it, squinting at the image it displayed: Mildred. Mildred’s corpse to be accurate, punctured with stab wounds and as deflated as an old tyre. That’s what you got for being a damned nuisance.

“Well done,” Sidney said, placing the phone face-down on the table as though in respect to the dead when really it was to stop the light burning his eyes. “I hope she didn’t give you too much trouble.” She certainly wouldn’t trouble Sidney any longer.

Still keeping watch at the window, Aaron said nothing. He was trembling, almost imperceptibly, but Sidney saw it with a predator’s eyes, homing in the smallest movements in the dark. The coppery scent of blood clung to the boy’s clothes, and as Sidney approached, he saw they glistened with it, drenched in the old woman’s last precious pints. 

“Are you hurt?” Sidney asked, leaning close to the boy’s nape where his hair lay dark with sweat. 

Aaron’s voice came out strained. “Of course not. She was an old woman.” 

He wasn’t to know what that elderly body housed, the power of that which possessed her. Sidney wasn’t sure if Aaron knew what possessed _him_ , a man he hoped would be his keeper, master, mentor, whatever Aaron wanted to call it. Keeping him in ignorance was relatively simple when fear was involved. Same with all humans. 

But he’d done as he was told, and that was encouraging. 

“She was . . .” Aaron stiffened under Sidney’s touch, a gentle hand on his shoulder, and sucked the end of his sentence back in. He exhaled shakily. “Is that all I gotta do?”

Sidney nodded even though Aaron couldn’t see, his eyes still fixed on the moonlit land outside the window where only crickets chittered and grass shifted in the breeze. “Yes.”

*

The boy’s eyes were glazed like he was in a trance. Sidney found him staring through the steam-clouded bathroom mirror, fresh from the shower with a towel secured around his hips, water pooling at his feet. Anderson’s bruises still marked his white shoulders. Sidney avoided looking at them. 

“I need clothes,” Aaron said to Sidney’s shadow as it cast across the floorboards. Everything he owned was under his mother’s roof, inaccessible now, and Sidney had a duty to provide for the boy who’d proven himself worthy by snuffing Mildred out as easily as pinching a candle between two fingers. 

“Then we’ll get you some,” Sidney said from the doorway. A water droplet escaped the boy’s hair and trickled between his shoulder blades, following the sharp relief of his spine. Once it reached the edge of the towel, Sidney walked away. 

His wardrobe was sparse and fitted an adult frame. Aaron would have to make do. It felt cruel to suggest he wear one of his undershirts when he preferred covering himself the way most awkward teenagers did, so Sidney brought one of his pressed shirts to the bathroom. Aaron remained in the same spot, staring blankly at his reflection, knuckles white as he gripped the sink’s edge. 

“There’s powder under the sink,” Sidney said, placing the neatly folded shirt on the counter. “For washing your things. They’ll dry by morning.”

As he turned to leave again, Aaron snatched his wrist in a grip so fierce Sidney’s hand formed an instinctual fist. 

“She told me something,” Aaron said, seemingly oblivious of his own strength. 

Sidney carefully prised the tight fingers away, and Aaron’s hand fell to his side. 

“She knew you’d sent me,” Aaron went on. He looked up into Sidney’s eyes the way he had the first time they met: afraid, but trying desperately to conceal it. “She said she could smell you on me.” 

“Was this before or after you stabbed her eight times?” 

The boy needed a cold reminder of just how deeply he’d waded—up to his neck.

Sidney had studied the cell phone’s picture while Aaron showered. He’d told him to kill her quickly, not give her an inch to talk or thrash her way out of her well-deserved demise. A slit throat would’ve been smarter, not allowed for chit chat. Eight stab wounds to her front though, from her delicate lace collar down to her abdomen, allowed Aaron to look her in the eye, to savour it. Perhaps there was fire in him then, as he plunged the knife into her feeble, wrinkled flesh more times than necessary. Now there was only regret and bleakness, and Sidney couldn’t help feeling disappointed. 

“You did good,” Sidney told him, reaching up to hold Aaron’s face in his palm. He brushed his thumb across his cheekbone, back and forth, looking down at him as he nodded slowly. This was what the boy had done this for: for him. For their shared cause, too; he just didn’t know it yet. He deserved a little encouragement. 

Aaron’s eyes widened. His lips trembled before pursing into a thin line. When Sidney snatched his hand from his face, he winced like he expected an assault. 

“But if you don’t want this life,” Sidney hissed, “run home to mommy.” He shoved the shirt into Aaron’s grip. “If you’re sticking around, then expect more blood on your hands.”

*

Sidney slept atop a made bed, and always in his clothes. There was a chance someone might break his door down—the sheriff, perhaps. One of the recently turned might need his guidance. Kyle Barnes might indulge in his habit of making a scene across the turf. Sidney had to be prepared, and he couldn’t stand the undignified prospect of being seen improperly dressed. 

He always slept lightly. The only reason he turned in at all was his vessel. It required periods of unconsciousness to function, so Sidney was forced to oblige it. 

The clock’s glowing numerals burned his eyes. 3:33AM. The mattress creaked, announcing Aaron’s presence as he crawled atop the sheet beside him. He’d taken off the robe Sidney lent him while his clothes drip-dried out back and wore only Sidney’s white shirt, its sleeves rolled to the elbows, shoulder seams halfway down his biceps, tails almost to his knees.

“I’m cold,” Aaron mumbled. He laced his fingers across his stomach, mirroring Sidney’s posture, and turned his head on the pillow to look at him. 

Sidney closed his eyes, opting to ignore the boy’s intrusion.

Fragmented images flickered behind his eyelids like they’d been projected there from an ancient spool of film. Sidney recognised them—his vessel’s memories, firing up whenever something triggered them or the borrowed body tried forcing them to mind. They were void of colour and sensation, mere snapshots with basic, juddering movements for Sidney to view or ignore as he wished. This one showed Sidney’s hand, back when it wasn’t his to control, resting upon a bony kneecap, palm down. The next, that same hand easing upward between two hairless thighs, too small to belong to anyone but a child. Sidney opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling’s crumbling tiles.

Daring to glance at Aaron’s side of the bed, he saw his bare legs laying straight like the ones in the vile memory, his feet flexing and shivering in the dark. 

“There’s a blanket at the foot of the bed,” Sidney told him. “On the floor.” He wasn’t about to invite him to get under the covers. “Take it.”

Aaron sat up and shuffled down the length of the bed, bending to reach for the folded throw. He exposed a hip as he stretched, the shirt sliding up just enough to reveal soft skin pulled taught over bone. Sidney’s eyes snapped shut, but it didn’t matter if they were open or closed. The images projected themselves into the centre of his skull regardless, grainy and unfocused yet demanding his attention: a small, trembling body bent over before him; Sidney’s hands gripping a thin waist bruise-hard; a bony spine trailing down naked flesh toward . . . 

Sidney found he was uncomfortably erect under clothes that, thankfully, concealed the unwelcome arousal. Trying to resist the memories his vessel fed him was near impossible. It was like the urge to eat, another new experience he’d learned to cope with. He couldn’t think hunger away. This hunger of a different kind was even harder to supress. Sidney found himself wanting to feast on Aaron then, as the boy wrapped the patchwork blanket around his shoulders and turned to look at him in the darkness. 

Sidney’s mouth watered, his body sitting up of its own volition. 

The voiceless urge pleaded with him from within his marrow. Aaron was vulnerable, frail, good enough to eat. _Take what’s yours_. 

Aaron was staring at him, that look in his eyes that was somehow both hopeless and hopeful. He didn’t fear what Sidney might do to him, here where no one would hear his screams or even know he was present. If anything, his face invited it. Foolish, foolish child.

“The sofa,” Sidney snapped, jaw clenched, breath harsh through his nostrils as he fought what every fibre of his flesh urged him to do. 

“Huh?” 

Shoving the boy, Sidney resisted the impulse to let his fingers linger on him, twist into his shirt and pull him straight back again. His hands shook as he snatched them away, fists balling tight enough they threatened to snap his fingers. 

Aaron ran. 

*

This wasn’t Anderson’s church, but its flock fell for the same delusion: God would save them. 

This one was made from brick, a few dozen gravestones huddled around it, some ancient with names, dates and winged angels rubbed flat by time, others newer and less grandiose. It stood twenty-six miles south of Rome with nothing but farmland surrounding it, and one of Sidney’s kind had claimed its isolated yet spritely priest before Sidney first arrived. 

Sidney staggered out through the church’s main doors and leant against the frame, his wheezing breaths painting clouds in the chill night air. Parked on the other side of the graveyard, the Cadillac awaited his return. Fog had crawled around its wheels in his absence, making it loom like a crypt of jet marble beneath the unobstructed moonlight, threatening and alluring . . . if you ignored the grating music—if you could call it that—bleeding through its passenger window.

He’d never let the boy ride with him before. Sidney hadn’t required an escort for this particular errand, but something told him he might need a helping hand if things got messy. They hadn’t, not in that sense. The priest was dealt with, and some devout parishioner would find him in the morning, not perched on the end of a pew with a welcoming smile but face-down before the alter in a pool of his own entrails. 

Aaron had stayed in the Cadillac like he was told. Almost. Sidney saw his Converses first, sticking through the passenger window and dangling over the door, laces untied. His legs swung to the radio’s beat, no doubt scuffing the paintwork.

“How’d it go?” Aaron asked as Sidney sank into the driver’s seat and threw a disapproving glance at his lounging. He’d stretched himself across his side of the car, head resting on the smooth walnut panel behind the handbrake. 

“As expected,” Sidney said, turning off the radio. He hadn’t told the boy where they were going or why, and Aaron hadn’t pushed. He seemed content with merely being outside, like a dog that hadn’t been walked in a while. 

“You’re bloody,” Aaron said, squinting up at him. 

The rear-view mirror confirmed it: a streak of blood across the white chest of Sidney’s shirt. Some of the spatter stained his neck and chin, so he blotted at it with his handkerchief, accepting it’d be ruined like most of his others. And he’d tried to be so careful. 

With the kind of lithe effortlessness only a teenager possessed, Aaron slid his legs from the window and slithered across the cramped space. His shoes dug into the leather while he supported himself against the driver’s armrest, sitting across Sidney’s lap. 

Sidney let him take the handkerchief, curious.

“Did you mark him?” Aaron asked. He wiped the handkerchief along the edge of Sidney’s jaw, disturbing the silver stubble there, the touch rasping. “Like what you did to Anderson.” 

There’d been a considerable amount of blood when he’d carved into Anderson’s flesh, but it was considerably less than a body produced when quartered like some medieval miscreant. Perhaps the boy thought that was Sidney’s MO: branding priests in the night. Aaron had no clue of the bigger picture, of how his world was changing under his feet, of who he was dealing with. Despite their strange relationship, Aaron would be as surprised by the Great Merge as the rest of Rome.

“I killed him,” Sidney said softly, lifting his chin to let Aaron wipe beneath it. 

Excitement flashed in Aaron’s eyes. “Why?” 

Sidney tossed around the idea of telling the boy this blood belonged to someone who asked too many questions, but he decided against it. “He had it coming.”

Tipping his head to see better, Aaron dragged the handkerchief down Sidney’s throat, over his Adam’s apple and into the space between the open leaves of his shirt collar. He was careful and gentle, concentrating as he asked with an awed tone, “How’d you do it?” 

Looking over the boy’s shoulder, Sidney tried to find some distraction out there in the darkness that might deflect the feeling building beneath his skin. The way Aaron looked at him made him feel powerful, like taking advantage. But the only things beyond the windshield were graves. One was recently decorated, colourful bouquets clustered around it with handwritten notecards trembling in the breeze. Sidney tried imagining what might be written on them as Aaron’s warm fingers pressed against his temple. 

He should’ve put the key in the ignition. Instead, he asked, “You wanna see?” 

Aaron’s hand froze as his eyes widened. “Fuck yeah.” 

*

Despite the doors being open to the night, the smell in the church was sickening. Blood and guts, even this fresh, would never smell like a rose garden. Aaron looked like he was about to retch before he jammed his sleeve over his mouth and nose. Still, he stepped closer, staring at the scene before them in fascinated silence.

A veil of moonlight shone through the easterly window, the simple colours of the glass staining the light a sickly shade of red. It illuminated the corpse where it lay face-down, glinting from wet intestinal folds and tendrils of blood snaking across the floor. The priest’s pose improved the grizzly spectacle. As he’d collapsed, he’d reached for a statue of the messiah stood beside the alter, its hands folded in prayer—perhaps the vessel’s attempt to find comfort in its final moments.

As Aaron surged ahead, Sidney took a pew near the door and leant back against the purposely uncomfortable wood. He watched Aaron squat beside the body, keeping an ear on the door in case of any late visitors. 

“He’s so pale,” Aaron whispered. His words carried across church walls designed to amplify the priest’s sermons, the choir’s harmonies, and now the only voice among them. He peered over his shoulder at Sidney, looking for a moment like a crouched gargoyle waiting to play a trick. “Can I touch him?”

“If you wish,” Sidney answered, folding his hands on his lap. 

Turning the priest’s deadweight by his shoulder, Aaron gasped as the movement caused more of his guts to tumble from the cavern of his abdomen in a slick slide. Sidney had sliced him collar to crotch and straight across his middle. There was little left to hold the once writhing mess inside. 

Aaron made a disgusted sound as he stepped back, shielding his mouth with his sleeve again. Once the innards settled, hanging out in a smear of gore, he squatted to inspect the body further. 

“I know this guy,” Aaron said, turning to look at Sidney again. “He gave talks at the shitty Sunday School my mom made me go to when I was a kid.” He scoffed. An ugly sound. “He used to tell me that if I was a good Christian, I’d have a better life, like Aaron in the Bible.”

Sidney was tempted to open the Bible tucked into the back of the pew before him and read verses aloud that proved the biblical Aaron less than saintly. Exodus was wonderfully contrary in that respect, its character arcs meandering to the point of lunacy. 

“He knew what my dad did to us,” Aaron continued, talking to the priest’s twisted face. “Still told me to respect him, though. Said I should forgive him too. Fucking asshole.” His fist clenched against his knee before he reached out to touch the body. 

He dipped a fingertip into congealing blood clinging to a ripped edge of the priest’s flesh. After examining it on his skin, he painted a line with it on the grey stone floor beside him. He drew another, then another, reapplying the tacky blood each time, until he’d drawn the same five-pointed star still healing on Anderson’s chest. As soon as he’d finished the encompassing circle, Sidney called out to him.

“Come on.” He gestured Aaron closer but didn’t stand.

“We should steal something,” Aaron said, a wild look in his eyes as he stalked down the central aisle towards him. “Or smash the windows.” He stopped to look up at one excitedly. 

“No,” Sidney said smoothly. Wasn’t a dead priest enough? “We should go home.”

Aaron took a half-step backwards. “Five more minutes?” He peered back at the priest’s body.

“To do what exactly?” 

In a pathetically pleading voice, Aaron said, “I wanna look at him some more.” 

Sidney said nothing. He looked between Aaron and the body, then pushed up his sleeve to look at his watch. Spreading his hands as if to say _go ahead_ , he told Aaron he had two minutes to enjoy the view. 

With knowledge of the ticking clock, Aaron rushed back to the corpse. It appeared he didn’t quite know what to do with it next, as though looking wasn’t enough for him anymore. Without a care for his shoes, he swirled his sole around in the pooling blood. Sidney thought he might walk it around, leave a trail of footprints along one of the pews, but he kicked the priest in the face instead, sending his head to one side with an echoing smack that left a neat, red print. 

Aaron laughed. It was a low, uncaring sound that would’ve turned the priest’s blood cold if any remained in his veins. Sidney wondered if he should put a stop to the boy’s fun, teach him a bit of responsibility, but what harm was there in indulging him, really? 

Tiring of kicking, Aaron opted for pulling at bits of his new toy instead. He grabbed a handful of something—spleen, perhaps?—and wrenched as if trying to dislodge it. When that failed, he tugged on another slippery piece of the priest’s person. Successfully ripping it free, a jet of blood gushed from where it’d been attached, spraying Aaron’s face with scarlet before he could jump out of its way. 

Sidney got to his feet and sped down the aisle. “That’s enough!” 

Aaron was panting, eyes dark and unfocused as blood dripped from his chin like some feral beast. 

“Look at the state of you,” Sidney chided, retrieving the same bloodstained handkerchief Aaron had cleaned him with from his pocket. 

“Let me kill the next person,” Aaron said, possessed by a sudden seriousness. “I can do it.” 

Sidney stepped closer. Blood had gotten in the boy’s hair, clumping his ginger bangs into red strings above his eyebrows. Aaron flinched when Sidney touched his face, wiping the handkerchief along his cheekbone. It left a dark smear on pale skin, the light through the stained glass making it look black. 

“Will you let me?” Aaron breathed, eyes fixed on Sidney’s. 

Sidney shushed him. There’d be time to discuss that later. For now, he worked the handkerchief over his face, determined to make him look presentable. The cloth was so soiled he had to fold it back on itself, revealing a flash of white that ignited an image in the murky depths of his mind: a young boy’s mouth, lips parted, a white cloth pushed between them to bite down upon. Two thumbs wiped the boy’s tears away, and Sidney heard his own voice tell him everything was going to be all right. 

His stomach lurched as reality rushed back, the smell of the body at his feet hard to ignore. His hands were on Aaron’s face, positioned the same as in the memory. The handkerchief was on the floor.

Sidney swallowed and held Aaron’s bloodied face gently. “ _If_ I let you, you’re not gonna go all remorseful on me again, are you?” 

Aaron shook his head between Sidney’s palms. 

“That’s my boy.” 

Before Sidney could pull his hands away, Aaron turned and drew the tip of his thumb into his mouth. The blood he sucked from it stained his lips a fresh scarlet and had Sidney’s heart pounding in his ears. No memories invaded. It was Sidney alone who pushed his thumb deeper, smoothing it over Aaron’s warm, wet tongue. The intensity of the boy’s gaze had his breath quickening, his self-control dropping into his shoes as he tried to resist what he was already doing. 

Aaron closed his eyes. The wet, suckling slide of his lips was the only sound breaking the church’s silence, and it was the kind of sound that stood the hairs on the back of Sidney’s neck to attention.

A snarl of exhaust and a flash of headlights passed the church on the road outside, bursting the moment’s intimacy. Whoever was out there this late hadn’t stopped, but they might’ve spotted the Cadillac. Sidney was getting sloppy. 

He stooped to pick up his handkerchief and shot Aaron a look. “I told you we should be getting home.” 

Aaron didn’t argue this time. 

*

As Aaron hit the undergrowth face-first, his agonised sob only made Sidney angrier with him, though the relief of finally finding him took the edge off.

“Get up,” Sidney commanded, voice swallowed up by the forest’s dense darkness.

The boy bent his wounded throat back and stared up at him in a daze, fingers curled and digging into the soil. When he didn’t budge, Sidney dragged him from the ground. Barnes was close, his scent as strong as the flaming petroleum burning bright beyond the edge of the trees, and there was no way in hell he was getting his hands on Aaron. 

He and Aaron exchanged glares as Sidney dragged him towards the Cadillac. Time was of the essence. Aaron’s unfinished business with Anderson would have to wait. So would asking him why he’d run off in his condition and where he’d found a goddamn gun. 

Barnes’ silhouette gave chase in the wing-mirror, his frame growing smaller and less defined as Sidney pressed harder on the gas. When Barnes was just another shadow in the mirrored distance, Sidney glanced at Aaron in the backseat. Trying not to rest his burnt back against the leather, the boy’s face twisted with pain while he hugged his arms around himself. Sidney had confiscated his weapon. It lay in the glovebox now, and Aaron would only get it back if he behaved himself. 

There was every chance Barnes and Anderson would hunt them tonight, every chance they’d tip off the Sheriff about their heading. Everyone was looking for Aaron. Everyone wanted to know what demons dwelled in the boy’s head to compel him to murder his own mother, most of all Sidney. Returning to the warehouse immediately was asking for trouble, so Sidney pulled off the road leading there and merged onto the highway.

“Where’re we going?” Aaron asked. Sidney ignored him, too incensed to hold a conversation that wouldn’t end in raised voices or losing his grip on the steering wheel. So he stared ardently at the highway instead, pulling off at an exit he vaguely recognised.

“Sidney?” 

The boy’s voice sounded how it had while he was on his back pumped full of morphine just this morning—feeble and pitiful. But what he’d done tonight took guts. It took strength and determination and a profoundly fucked up view of the world. Sidney didn’t want a repeat of Mildred: Aaron full of regret, needing comfort Sidney could scarcely provide. Since then, he’d never ordered the boy to take a life because he didn’t believe he could handle it. Turned out he was wrong.

A sign for a hiking trail flashed in Sidney’s headlights. Beneath it was a patch of gravel framed by forest, empty now, but large enough to hold a few cars for those braving the trek. A length of chain lay across the entrance, meant to close it off at night. Sidney pulled in. 

The area was badly underkept, possibly abandoned. A pile of trash bags and an old mattress had been dumped in one corner, and on closer inspection, the sign was scrawled in graffiti. No one would disturb them here. They could wait it out until morning, then take a different route to the warehouse without Rome’s law enforcement in tow.

Once the engine settled, Sidney wasn’t sure where to start. No matter how many questions he had for Aaron, he couldn’t foresee any answers satisfying him. Their eyes met in the rear-view, Aaron’s twitchiness revealing his state of mind. Sidney let him squirm.

The gun had gotten cold in the glovebox. The metal sapped the warmth from Sidney’s fingertips, its catches stiff as he tried to dislodge the magazine and inhibit its lethality. He wouldn’t let it sit within reach, loaded, when Aaron’s behaviour was this unpredictable. 

Aaron was out of the car in a blink, tripping over his feet as he backed off across the gravel and left the door gaping. “I know you’re angry with me,” he shouted, falling onto his backside before leaping up again. “I’m sorry, Sidney, I’m sorry, please don’t – don’t do this.” He raised both hands in surrender, and Sidney realised what his silent action must’ve looked like. 

Gently opening the door, Sidney stepped out onto the gravel, slowly lifting his hands to show they were empty. “It’s all right,” he said, in the most pacifying tone he could muster.

Aaron looked like he didn’t believe him. His mouth took on an ugly, wretched shape as he continued begging for his life. Tears clung to his few remaining eyelashes that hadn’t melted in the blaze. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I was—” 

“No,” Sidney interrupted. “You weren’t.” He took a step towards Aaron, who stepped back also, maintaining the distance between them. “Come on,” Sidney encouraged, gesturing him closer. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

Those dark, wild eyes swiftly surveyed their surroundings then maintained their fix on Sidney, like he expected him to pull a knife on him any second. “Then why here?” Stepping sideways, eying the mouth of the trail across the clearing, Aaron hugged himself how he had in the back of the car.

Sidney had lost him once tonight already; he wasn’t letting him run off again. As Aaron made a run for the trail, he lunged out and grabbed him. 

“Calm down!” Sidney snapped, leaning away from the boy’s hammering fists as he tried to scrabble free. “You’ll hurt yourself.” Walking Aaron backwards, he managed to pin his legs against the hood of the car and was surprised when he went limp. “There,” he whispered, gripping Aaron’s wrists as he slumped and gave in. “That’s better.” 

Blood trickled down the boy’s temple. It looked fresh, though Sidney couldn’t tell if it was Mrs. MacCready’s or Aaron’s own wounds oozing from the physical stress. Or both, perhaps.

“Just get it over with,” Aaron said miserably, staring through Sidney’s torso. 

“We’re hiding here until morning,” Sidney explained, knowing Aaron needed to hear it. “Barnes could’ve followed us. And thanks to your little tantrum, we need to lay low.” 

Aaron lifted his head, looking at him with the same dazed expression he’d had when Sidney found him in the forest, flames crackling in his wake. “You’re not gonna kill me?” 

Sidney sighed. “You deserve it after the trouble you’ve caused, but no, I’m not.” His hand trailed up the boy’s forearm to his bicep, still gripping lightly in case he tried to flee again, but mostly to encourage trust in him. 

“I did it for you,” Aaron said. Tears clumped his auburn eyelashes, more blood seeping from his wounds as he set his jaw.

Sidney blinked. What he’d said earlier at the warehouse, daring Aaron to carve up a corpse to prove himself, had probably inspired this escapade. The boy wasn’t ready yet, emotionally nor physically, for the kind of work that would get his hands as dirty as Sidney’s were. “We’ll discuss it later.” 

“You think I can’t handle killing,” Aaron said, sucking in a pained breath that shuddered through him. “That I’m not worthy of being like you.” He sat up straighter. “I proved you wrong.” 

“You proved nothing other than you can’t be trusted.” 

Aaron looked like he might crumble, as though he’d received the kind of bad news that made grown men fall to their knees in despair. His eyelids fluttered closed, and when he opened them, a tear slid down his charred cheek, diluting the blood leaking from ruined skin. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

Something compelled Sidney to ease the boy’s pain. It was the same something that made him take Aaron from Park’s so-called care and tend to him himself, the same something that made him walk through flames to rescue him from certain death. “Be patient,” he whispered, taking the boy’s head in his hands and drawing it to his chest.

“I can’t!” Aaron spat. “I want . . .” His fist clenched in Sidney’s shirt as he failed to contain a sob. 

“You want,” Sidney began, “to be the Dragon. To be someone feared.” 

Aaron nodded against him, shaking as he wept silently, a lost child hoping to make a mark on a world that had turned its back on him. It was easy to forget how young he was sometimes.

Stroking the boy’s hair, Sidney tipped his head back to glance at the stars. It was a clear night, threatening to turn bitter, and if it wasn’t for the blue light of the moon, the sky would’ve looked as black as Sidney’s home. He’d been so distracted by Aaron’s recovery that he hadn’t thought of that dark, suffocating place in days. Others waited for him to deliver them here, to merge with a vessel that’d live a long life, that’d cope with the mental pressure of housing their kind. Aaron had the potential to be one of those vessels, if only he behaved. 

“You can’t go running off like that again,” Sidney said, once Aaron’s shaking ceased somewhat. “You must do as you’re told.” 

Leaning back in Sidney’s hands, Aaron looked up at him. “I’m sorry.” He wiped his nose with his sleeve and winced as the fabric brushed his raw, broken flesh. “Fuck.” 

“Here,” Sidney said. The boy stiffened when he reached into his pocket, but his relief was such at seeing the strip of Oxymorphone that he sighed aloud. “It’s lucky one of us thinks ahead.” 

Aaron wriggled in anticipation, opening his mouth obediently for Sidney to press a tablet onto his tongue. They were strong enough to knock him out for a few hours, which was ideal when all they had to do was wait until the sun rose again. Sidney helped him off the hood and led him to the backseat. The door remained open, so he held it while Aaron climbed inside. As he went to close it, Aaron’s hand shot out and grabbed the armrest.

“I’m cold,” Aaron said, a hopeful look on his face. He glanced inside at the empty, inviting backseat, then out at Sidney again. In a whisper, he said, “Please?” 

“It’ll be better if I stay in the—” 

“Please.” More urgent this time.

It shouldn’t have been such an easy decision, but Aaron had a habit of getting under Sidney’s skin. He sighed and got in beside him, unsurprised that the first thing Aaron did once the door closed was shuffle in close. 

Aaron’s head fit snug into the crook of Sidney’s shoulder. It had in the flaming trailer, too. The boy’s clothes and skin had melted down one side of his body because of how Sidney scooped him up through that blistering wall of heat and carried him away. The half that had pressed against him, that pressed against him now, had been protected. 

The smell of Aaron’s singed flesh lingered. Unpleasant, but Sidney was used to it. It reminded him of his own mortality, of the vulnerability of the meatsuit he paraded around this planet like he was one of the locals. He’d gotten better at controlling it. Supressing its memories was a skill he’d honed. 

A few weeks ago, the boy’s body pressed against his in a confined space would’ve inspired a barrage of memories to contend with, but as Aaron grew heavier, his breaths slowing, all Sidney thought about was getting him back to the warehouse safely. 

*

A handkerchief pressed over his mouth, Sidney paused. The woods were dark, barely any moonlight filtering through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, but he knew this path, and he knew how many strides ahead Aaron was and how many yards further the Cadillac lay in wait. Adrenaline, and the crushed concoction of tablets he’d swallowed some hours back, stopped his true self spewing past his lips. He coughed black spittle into the handkerchief’s crisp white, composed himself, then picked up his feet. 

Aaron sped ahead. Behind them, some commotion was going on in the parking lot. Someone might’ve found Mayor Boyd slumped against his car, a hole blown clean through his head. The second beacon might’ve drawn too much attention from Sidney’s kind. Whatever it was, they needed to vacate the scene, and quickly. 

The boy’s savage howl tore through the trees. He turned on the path to face Sidney, spreading his arms wide, one palm to the sky, the other still holding the gun. 

“Did you see?” he shouted, ignoring Sidney’s glare. “The look on his face!” He laughed loud, and Sidney shushed him. 

“Do you want them to come after us?” he asked in an urgent whisper. Snatching the boy’s wrist, he turned toward the way they’d come. “Hear that?” It was the sound of chaos, an eerie maelstrom of screaming and bending metal.

“He was so fucking scared of me,” Aaron panted, oblivious. He snatched his arm free and ran ahead. 

The instability in Sidney’s kind undulated through the atmosphere like rippling water. Sometimes Sidney knew where those ripples began—usually a newly merged host fighting for its life. Other times, it was a vague impression of unrest. The air was thick with it tonight. The others waiting for the Merge were growing impatient. The second beacon in their midst wouldn’t help matters. 

Grass crunched underfoot as Sidney caught up with the boy. Aaron had done well tonight. He’d taken a life on command, and spared one on command. People were finally starting to learn not to mess with Sidney’s plans. Well, Mayor Boyd wouldn’t be learning anything anymore, but the people in this town who liked to play the hero might think twice now, let things happen when they happened and submit to the inevitable. 

The cuff of Sidney’s shirt was stained red. Caldwell’s blood. He’d have to roll it up and hide it, because he didn’t have—

Sidney flinched as Aaron fired the gun into the starry sky. The sound ricocheted off the surrounding trees, and birds scattered in a flurry of wings. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Sidney snapped. Aaron had leant against a tree to catch his breath, so he marched up to him and went to snatch the gun from his hand. 

Aaron didn’t let it go. Still panting, his eyes flashed as he studied Sidney’s face. “Are you proud of me?” he asked, tilting his ruined face until a tress of red hair tumbled onto the bald half of his skull. His finger crept along the gun to brush the edge of Sidney’s hand. 

“Should I be?” Sidney asked, glancing down to the weapon they both grasped. It was warm, still loaded. He eased it from Aaron’s grip and was relieved when he let him take it.

“I did as you asked,” Aaron said in a whisper. They were far enough from the commotion now that they couldn’t hear it anymore, but the town’s disquiet continued throbbing through the air. Otherwise, the woods were silent.

Aaron slid a hand to Sidney’s face, so Sidney took his wrist and led it away. 

The boy tried again, reaching up to clutch Sidney’s shirt collar and tug him closer, but Sidney pulled back and started for the car. They couldn’t risk lingering. Not here. Not anywhere. 

Reaching the Cadillac, Sidney got in and leaned across to lock the pistol in the glovebox. The boy claimed he owned it because it once belonged to his father, as if that meant anything. It belonged to Sidney now, just as the boy did.

The car creaked as Aaron fell against the hood, sprawling back across it like he was intoxicated. He laughed again, head lolling from side to side against the dark metal. 

“Get in the car,” Sidney said, getting out, ready to drag him into the passenger seat if he had to. He was pleased the boy showed no signs of regret after killing anymore, but this was going too far the other way. This manic episode had to end. 

“I would’ve done anything to shoot that guy’s balls off,” Aaron said, stretching his hands behind his head and reclining like the hood of the Cadillac was now a comfortable bed. An amused smile was glued to his face.

“Get in the car.” 

“I didn’t though, did I?” Aaron pushed himself up onto his hands and looked Sidney in the eyes. “I did what you told me.” 

Fist clenching, Sidney drew a measured breath. “And now I’m telling you to get in the car.”

“When’re you gonna turn me?” Aaron asked quickly. He slid to the edge of the hood, tipping his head back as he kept his eyes on Sidney’s. “I wanna be like you.” 

It would be cruel to hand Aaron over when he wasn’t whole. For one of Sidney’s kind, his burns would be a torment. Besides, he’d planned on having the boy himself once he’d wiped all traces of compassion from him. Sharing a body with someone young, healthy, and unhinged would be an interesting attachment, make everything smoother, and he wouldn’t have to deal with these old bones any longer. 

“I’m ready,” Aaron went on, eyes wide and desperate.

Sidney’s chest tightened. He wouldn’t let one of his kind get a sniff of Aaron MacCready. No matter how much the boy begged, he was staying human as long as Sidney stayed in this vessel. To avoid one of his temper tantrums, he’d have to break it to him gently: it wasn’t happening tonight. 

“Please, Sidney,” Aaron whispered, seeming discouraged by his silent studying of him. He placed a confident hand on Sidney’s chest as he stared up at him, fingertips creeping beneath his chin to hold the side of his throat. 

“Not tonight,” Sidney said softly. As he lifted his hand to take the boy’s from his face, Aaron noticed the blood on his cuff and gasped. 

“Are you hurt?”

Sidney shook his head. The tension in Aaron’s shoulders fell away as he slid the cuff back to check, no doubt remembering where the blood had come from, the cry of agony as Sidney rammed Caldwell’s hand through the mechanism. His fingers inched along the delicate flesh of Sidney’s wrist.

“Did I do something wrong?” Aaron asked, blinking slow, stroking Sidney’s skin. “Is that why you won’t change me?” The way he looked at him, transfixed, knocked the breath from Sidney’s lungs.

“You did nothing wrong,” Sidney whispered, distracted by the boy’s gentle touch, trying to pull away from it but finding himself unable to. “I’m proud of you.” 

The boy’s lips parted, a small, weak sound escaping them. Sidney let him pull him closer, felt the boy’s hands twist in the fabric of his sleeve as he lay back against the hood. With Sidney bent over him, Aaron arched up; he was erect, the protrusion prodding Sidney’s stomach. There could be any number of reasons behind it. He was overstimulated from the kill, edgy, full of adrenaline and pain relief. Being a teenage boy was another, more likely explanation. 

None explained Aaron’s hands creeping up to hold his waist and his strained whisper of, “I know you want me.” He arched his hips again, gritting his teeth from the friction. “I’m not saying no, am I?”

“You’re playing with fire,” Sidney breathed, close enough to smell the familiar scent of Aaron’s healing skin, feel its warmth seep through his shirt. 

Aaron laughed. “I’m burnt already if you hadn’t noticed.” 

“You’re getting distracted,” Sidney warned, still trying to resist. “Letting your body govern you.” He could talk. His vessel was a strong one, fighting hard to snatch the mental reins at any given moment. That mortal half wanted to press Aaron back onto the Cadillac’s glossy hood and fuck him until he screamed, but Sidney wanted to sculpt him into something valuable. Either way, they both wanted Aaron for themselves. 

Sidney hissed through his teeth as Aaron arched again. His cock twitched. No. No, this was wrong. This was his mortal half sinking in its hooks and getting its way. Or . . . 

He unzipped himself, his cock filling out in an irresistible flood of heat. New experiences were few and far between for Sidney now. He didn’t flinch at the slightest flash of sunlight or find the fine hairs on his arms standing up at the sensation of a razor scraping his stubble. This body was worn-in almost everywhere. But not here.

Aaron’s breath quickened, and Sidney expected the sound might drag some of those memories to the surface. But there was nothing. No phantom muscle memory led him, forced his hand into the boy’s hair to grip and tug and relish in him gasping. He was doing this because _he_ wanted to. 

“Go on then,” Sidney whispered, giving Aaron’s head a little southward shove. 

Obediently, Aaron slithered to his knees between Sidney and the Cadillac, and in one fluid movement, leant forward, opened his mouth, and sucked the head of his cock. 

The boy’s mouth was almost too warm, his hot tongue sliding along the underside, tracing around the tip. Sidney arched forward, gritting his teeth and cursing toward the sky as he gripped the hood with both hands. This felt sublime, like nothing he’d experienced as a human, even better than those first hours inside someone else’s skin where every sensation was heightened to the point of hysteria. 

Pressing his fingers into Aaron’s hair, he kneaded his scarred scalp, pulled him harder onto his cock as a moan he couldn’t suppress bled into the night air. Aaron reacted by sucking harder, breathing harshly through his nose into Sidney’s fly.

“Good boy,” Sidney sighed, lightheaded. He wondered how quickly they could relocate to the Cadillac’s backseat, so he didn’t have to endure standing when his legs threatened to buckle any moment. 

Aaron pulled back. His lips were swollen and soaked, his eyes glazed as he peered up at Sidney from his knees. “Say it again,” he begged breathlessly, his hand tightening around Sidney’s cock. Sidney pulled his head down again, arching up to nudge the boy’s throat. The short break made it even more pleasurable a second time. 

“No,” Sidney said, voice trembling. “You can earn it.” The intensity was building, a foreign sensation ascending somewhere deep within him in a slow, dark slide, a bass note played against his spine. 

A blink of white cut through the trees. A flashlight. Not far behind it, feet thudded and crunched through undergrowth. Sidney snapped to attention, managing to untangle himself from the bliss of Aaron’s pliant mouth. Again, the boy had been a distraction, a diversion from Sidney’s purpose. 

A thought flashed through Sidney’s mind as Aaron clambered into the passenger seat, the engine already running: he could leave the boy here, deposit the murder weapon in his hand, the blood of the deceased on his clothes already. It would be relatively easy. Easier than waiting until he grew up or grew a thicker skin. Easier than killing him.

Instead, he drove on, willing to deal with Aaron MacCready for another day.


End file.
